When There is Love
by ShieldmaidenAndStrider
Summary: Faramir is a loyal and good man--but, when battle and shadow have passed, not at all adept in the field of communication. Aragorn seeks to befriend his Steward, hoping the result will be good. . .
1. Curse

"When there's a shadow you look for the sun/When there is love then you look for the one." --Enya, Paint the Sky with Stars  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: /. . ./ denotes a memory  
  
*****  
  
Faramir rested his head on his fist, squashing up the flesh about his right eye and making it completely impossible to focus on the book before him: that was all right, he meant to focus elsewhere. In only moments a glaze had come over the man's eyes, and though they flickered about as though searching, what ever he pursued clearly would not be found in the library around him.  
  
Stories, as Faramir often found himself guilty reading when something more productive might easily take the place of these, were more than words and sentences: they were plain joy. Never had the man known anything so pleasing as a good story.  
  
No, perhaps a good story was not the most pleasing thing in the world, perhaps the word Faramir sought was not "tale" but "love." Never needing to close his eyes to dream, Faramir saw a day many years ago, before his brother sought the Elven haven Imladris, when though he knew of the growing darkness it weighed not so heavily upon his mind.  
  
/"Faramir! So I have found you, little brother!" Boromir exclaimed, smiling, only his head and red-clad shoulders visible to Faramir, who elected to remain lying on his back and gazing at nothing in particular. "Anything of interest?" asked Boromir, hauling himself up and throwing himself into the hay beside his brother.  
  
"There," Faramir replied, pointing.  
  
"Wood," Boromir replied. "I wonder what type it is, and from whence it is come. What interests you in it?"  
  
Moving his arm, Faramir drew an outline for Boromir. "See the face in the grain? What a wicked smile! I think a wizard imprisoned him in this wood to punish him, for he was truly a terrible man!"  
  
Boromir laughed. "Indeed, brother? Does Mithrandir say this is possible?"  
  
"I have not yet asked him." Faramir turned his head. Boromir gazed at him strangely, "Why do you look at me in this way, Boromir?"  
  
"Because, little brother, you are so like to our mother. Do you recall the glorious tales she wove?"  
  
The younger boy turned away. "I remember her very little. Whoever killed Mama must be in wood somewhere, also."  
  
Boromir shifted in the hay, leaning on one elbow to watch his brother from a different angle. "Why do you say someone killed Mama, Faramir?"  
  
"Because," Faramir replied, whose memories of his mother were gay and filled with life, "she should not have died. Someone. . .someone killed her, because she was not meant to die."  
  
"Oh, Faramir." Boromir had sixteen years, and although he had always looked after his little brother sooner or later, and likely sooner, Boromir knew he would be dispatched to serve his country somewhere where he would be unable to play with or talk to his brother, lonely and serious at only eleven years. Shifting again, Boromir wrapped his arms around his brother and, holding the boy, said, "Things happen we cannot explain nor seek blame for, Faramir. Mama loved me and she loved you and her love will always be with us."  
  
"Then why would she leave us?" asked Faramir stubbornly.  
  
Later, Boromir would ask Faramir, 'Would you want Mama to know the darkening world?' but that day, he said, "Let me tell you where Mama is now, Faramir." Innocence is a terrible thing to lose. Grief is an awful fate to suffer. Boromir wished to protect his brother from these things, so he invented a story then. "Where Mama is now, all the days are sunny and the skies eternally blue. The grass never dies and has the strength to make a perfect whistle. In this place, no one knows grief or pain or sorrow, but is glad."  
  
Faramir, contented to act the child, snuggled against his brother's chest, and muttered into Boromir's tunic, "Does Mama miss us?"  
  
"No, she does not miss us, for she is watching over us. She is with us, Faramir."  
  
A pleasing answer, Faramir switched the subject again, "What does she do all day, Boromir?"  
  
"What does she do all day?" Boromir was surprised by the question; then, his brother did love to ask questions. "Well, every morning she watches the sun rise. . ."/  
  
The chiming of a clocktower not far away brought Faramir back to the present. Counting the bells, Faramir noted pleasantly that he had yet time before the twelfth hour, when he was to join the audience at the throne. Politics were all well and good, but when they interrupted reading and stories, Faramir found himself easily tired of them.  
  
Later, another chime alerted Faramir to a most terrible fact: his daydreams had drowned the first chime of the earlier session, and now the hour was not twelve--but one.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Author's note: I'm just indulging a plot bunny here. Let me know what you think! 


	2. Rabbit

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: This chapter will be short, but chapters will get longer hereafter. This is being written in the morning. . .before school. . .before finals. . .so it may be a bit awkward. That's why.  
  
*****  
  
/Boromir whirled around. Catching his brother's wrist, he flipped the younger boy onto his back with one swift motion. Faramir grunted as the shock of hitting the ground ran through his body, and for a moment lay there on the grass, panting, sweat dripping down his forehead.  
  
Suddenly the face of his elder brother swam before him. "Faramir? Are you all right?"  
  
"Just fine, Boromir, I. . ." He swallowed, then sat up to easier speak. "The shock, that's all, from the impact." Nevertheless his exhaustion caught up to him, and had trouble catching his breath.  
  
Boromir gaze his brother a worried look, then settled beside the younger boy. For nearly an hour Faramir had tracked him, then reversing the roles he had tracked Faramir. In the end Faramir snuck upon Boromir, and in the manner of war games Boromir responded. Sometimes he forgot how truly fragile his little brother was. "Here," Boromir said, offering a flask of water to his brother, "drink."  
  
Faramir nodded to Boromir's monosyllabic command (which may have been an invitation) by gladly accepting the flask and tipping a sip of water into his mouth. Though he could not tell Boromir, Faramir was angry with himself. He should not be so tired, after tracking hardly two hours; why, Boromir hardly sweated at all after the experience. And why had Faramir not caught his brother?  
  
"He has poisoned you, Brother," Boromir spoke, knowing Faramir's thoughts. "Let you not think that only warriors deserve honor, despite what our father may say. Recall that you are not gifted here, but my brother your gift is far mightier than strength of battle. A day may come when numbers alone cannot win, courage fails, and then it will be cunning which rides forth from the battlements to save us all! You, Faramir, you will be this cunning."  
  
The younger boy blushed, but remained unsatisfied. Father wanted two strong boys, not a strong boy and a consolation prize. And so Faramir learned to take a care in the placement of his feet, to walk without making a sound. Content with his abilities, the young son of the Steward tested himself by walking behind the back of his father or his brother. More and more he practiced, until at last a day came when Faramir deemed himself ready, and truly he tested himself.  
  
This was no hare, but a rabbit that Faramir hunted. She (the rabbit was female) perched upon a stretch of grass, nibbling on the juicy green blades but all the while aware. Her velvety pink nose twitched as she smelled the air for predators. Brown was her coat and good for camouflage. This was truly no mistake of nature. Here was perfection.  
  
Crouched in the bushes, Faramir gave little care to this. His was not to romanticize the creature's beauty but to be wary of beauty's uses; the strong hind legs for kicking, the ears and nose ever alert. These he must out manouever.  
  
No trap did Faramir set to catch his prey nor did he rely upon speed. Fifteen years old, the boy had two years of practice with silence. Now he stepped forth from the bushes in which he hid and gently, gently took a step forward. The rabbit did not move. He, Faramir, was less than ten paces away when SNAP! Faramir's foot landed on a small twig.  
  
The rabbit's head shot up and she looked around, but Faramir was silent and still, hardly daring to draw breath. At last, though warily, the creature returned to eating, nibbling upon the plant growth. Faramir started forward again.  
  
Then all at once the rabbit was in his hands! He had sneaked up to the creature, and now would finish his work! Two years' labor would be paid off! Faramir would be proven worthy! Even Steward Denethor could not deny his son's use now!  
  
But the rabbit struggled but Faramir held it, she kicked but he was stronger. . ./  
  
Unnoticed Faramir slipped into his place before the King. His mind had yet to adjust to this concept, but by being constantly aware of his thoughts Faramir checked himself and acted appropriately.  
  
Two were here whom he could not identify, though somehow the looked familiar. . .One of these two turned his head--his, or her? Faramir was uncertain--and, out of the corner of one chilling grey eye, observed Faramir joining the audience belatedly. Faramir shuddered and, feeling quite accused, lowered his eyes, until the voice of the King drew these two attentions away.  
  
'At least King Elessar does not know,' thought Faramir, and though he noted the King's disapproving glance this was naught but a flicker of the eye, and might easily have been the Steward's own conscious.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
And thank you Arahiril, it was awesome hearing from you! 


	3. Pet

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
/"Faramir?"  
  
The boy moved quickly, gently stashing something in a queer box and shoving the box beneath his bed, all frantic yet certain movements. "Come in!" he called then, and Boromir entered, his face unreadably red. "My brother, what is it?" asked the younger boy, shutting the door behind Boromir.  
  
"I--May I?" With Faramir's permission, Boromir half-sat, half-fell onto his little brother's bed. "Remember the scroll Father lent to me, which you borrow for a night? Yes? Well, Father seems to think it has been destroyed, and he blames me! I know not what I have done, Brother!" Though his tone held no accusation, Faramir felt guilty.  
  
Faramir sank beside Boromir on the bed. "Oh, Brother. . ." he muttered, knowing, "I am so sorry."  
  
"What?" Boromir asked in surprise. He gaze his fifteen-year-old brother a surprised look. Faramir had such a neat, tidy manner. . .how could he destroy anything?  
  
"You remember the day I went to hunt a rabbit?"  
  
"With your bare hands, yes. She got away from you, no harm or shame there."  
  
Faramir's face twisted in a negative reply. "I could n't do it, Boromir. Please do not be angry. . .I am sorry." Blushing, he drew the box from beneath his bed and, unlatching the lid, removed a short plank of wood to reveal the rabbit, pink nose sniffing. She regarded Boromir with distrust.  
  
"Oh, Brother. . ." Boromir smiled in a hopeless sort of way. He was touched by his brother's compassion and how dear his soul, domesticating the creature he set out to kill. Anyone but Faramir and Boromir would have scoffed, but with his brother Boromir asked, "May I pet her?"  
  
"Go ahead," Faramir replied, nodding eagerly. "She loves attention. Se--I named her Courtesy."  
  
"It certainly fits," Boromir commented, running one callused finger along the rabbit's back then proffering the digit to the creature. She sniffed and nibbled at him, and Boromir laughed. "She is sweet, Faramir. Well, this certainly explains many things! Only you, my brother, only you."  
  
Faramir frowned. "Do you disapprove?"  
  
Boromir looked at his brother and knew then that if he, Boromir, said to set the little rabbit free Faramir would do it, if he said to snap her neck Faramir would do it, and he, Faramir, would curse himself, not his brother, for the act. "No," Boromir answered. "Although I do not fully I understand, I approve."/  
  
Seeing the others rise, Faramir realized he, too, might leave the room without repercussions: the moment he had been waiting for. Looking about, he saw that most of the others were speaking in small groups as they made their way to the door; Noblemen, thought the young steward, a group he never truly felt himself a part of.  
  
The two Faramir had noticed earlier, whom he had been unable to identify, had approached King Elessar and thrown their arms around him in a double hug which looked as though it might strangle the king--'If he does not die of happiness,' the steward amended his thoughts, noticing the euphoric King. He thought of Boromir then, of his brother returning home. . .  
  
/Faramir heard the hoofbeats in the courtyard but thought nothing of them, intent on the chessboard set before him. His father sat opposite him, watching, just waiting to judge ever move he made. There was one move, but the rook would be in immediate danger. . ..though, if his father fell into his trap, Faramir would gain a knight, the sneakiest player on the board. . .Deciding at last to risk it, he moved the rook to take his father's.  
  
Denethor fixed his son with a disapproving glare, and Faramir startled. Surely the risk was worth the greater glory? "You would take my rook at the risk of losing your own?" asked the Steward in an angry voice. "Fool!" Faramir knew better than to protest. If his father had not seen the risk-- he did not! Denethor snatched up the rook like a greedy child, and moments later lost his knight to a pawn of Faramir's.  
  
Looking to his father for praise, a timid smile on his face, Faramir was shocked to see anger. "No son destroys his father," Denethor hissed, and Faramir winced, expecting to be smacked or cuffed, but Denethor only waved his hand. "Out of my sight," he commanded.  
  
"I'm sorry, Father," Faramir said quietly.  
  
"Away!" Denethor shouted, and the boy scrambled to his feet. Tears prickled in Faramir's eyes, but he turned to the door and dared not allow his father to see.  
  
But his tears turned to those of joy as the door opened at the moment Faramir's hand lit on the handle. "Faramir!" Boromir lifted the smaller boy into the air, then settled his brother on the ground once more and hugged him tightly. "Oh, it is so good to see you again, little brother!"  
  
"And you, Boromir," Faramir replied, smiling. Long had Boromir been gone, and news of an attack on his party reached Minas Tirith before the party itself.  
  
"Have you a report, my son?" asked Denethor.  
  
"Father." Boromir condescendingly gave his brother a pat on the shoulder and loped across the room to embrace his father. Denethor smiled. Faramir turned away once more, feeling bitterly rejected. "Father, there is much to be said."  
  
"Of course," Denethor replied. "Faramir, leave us."  
  
"Yes, milord," Faramir muttered, hanging his head further. Perhaps Boromir saw his brother's plight, for he said, "Nay, Father, let Faramir stay! He has a quick mind for such matters, and 'twould be a shame to waste it."  
  
"My son!" Denethor protested somewhat. "Faramir has a mind of mud and disloyalty."  
  
Boromir did not protest because he was in no mood for an argument. Instead he tried another approach. "Come, Father, if not for his mind then for me. I have not seen my brother in months. Let him stay, he will keep his thoughts to himself."  
  
Faramir stood in the doorway hearing this exchange, blinking back bitter tears.  
  
"Let him stay then," Denethor consented.  
  
"Brother, will you stay?" Boromir called. "For me, will you stay?"  
  
Rubbing the sorrow from his face, Faramir forced a smile. "Of course, Brother. Of course I will stay for you." Faramir sat beside his brother, facing his father. As Denethor shuffled through a sheaf of paper, Boromir whispered, "Be alert, Brother, you are more than he will acknowledge."/  
  
"Lord Faramir! Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, wait a moment!"  
  
Hearing his unaccustomed full title, Faramir halted. Surely he misjudged the voice, sure it could not be--  
  
"You left so quickly I had not a moment to speak with you," King Elessar said, coming up beside his Steward.  
  
"My apologies," Faramir replied absently. 'Those who rebel gain only new tyrants. Now I am lectured not by my father but a complete stranger. Woe to life.'  
  
"Let's walk," the King said, noting the awkwardness of two men standing in a corridor discussing. He stepped forward and Faramir followed, so he continued on. "May I be so bold as to call you Faramir?"  
  
"As you wish, my liege," Faramir replied. He was not one to contradict.  
  
"Will you call me Elessar?"  
  
This caught the steward's attention, and he looked up at the King in shock. He, the King, smiled. "There you are, then," he said. Off Faramir's bemused look, he answered, "You hide yourself always behind a sheaf of hair; it seems I must shock you to have a look at you."  
  
"So please you, I have other duties to attend to," Faramir replied, knowing he was being somewhat rude but not caring.  
  
"Forgive me, it seems I have offended you. I only wanted to talk with you." Awkwardly, Faramir listened, not sure if he ought to reply. At last King Elessar continued, "So, does it oft rain in Gondor? And are there snows in winter?"  
  
"Please, sir, do not tease me," Faramir muttered, his eyes on the ground once more.  
  
"My apologies again."  
  
"And you tease me again!" Faramir was beginning to feel rather distressed. Why did this King apologize? It was not his place, it was far, far below his place! "Please!"  
  
"Faramir, I do not mean to tease you nor to offend you. I came only to ask your more punctual appearance at court, and, since you so often take your meals in you rooms, to ask that you might join me at supper tonight." Elessar waited for a moment, watched Faramir shift uncomfortably, then before the Steward managed a word Elessar continued, "It would not be in the great hall or any large gathering, only myself and some close companions. If you would but come, Faramir, it would mean very much to me."  
  
"I. . .oh, here, we are at the library, well, my work is here, I shall take my leave of you, farewell--" he turned to interrupt his nervous babble and was surprised to feel a hand on his arms. Elessar realized his mistake and drew back, but said, "Your word, Steward Faramir."  
  
Seeing no way out of this engagement, Faramir gave his word, then slipped quickly into the library. Elessar stood in the corridor for a moment, wondering. This was not the Faramir he met in the war! Who was this shy, nervous boy? Where was Faramir?  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
I haven't the time to do individual responses right now, but thank you to all of my reviewers! By the by, does anyone know Faramir's eye color? 


	4. Insult

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
'Fine mess you have gotten yourself into now, Faramir!' The Steward berated himself as he dipped his comb in water and ran it once more through his hair. He had not appeared at any familiar congregation at the request of anyone before, and hoped sincerely that he would not need speak. A part of him hoped that the invitation had been a matter of business, but that small, childish part of himself which refused stubbornly to be stepped on hoped that he had not been invited on business but personally--as a friend. . .  
  
"Now you are being silly," he chided himself aloud. "Politics knows nothing of friendship, only of gaining. . .something done only by some other's loss. . ."  
  
/"Boromir, why is Uncle Imrahil not visiting for midwinter?" Faramir asked. He had been there every year before, even last year, despite that fact that Lady Finduilas had no longer been with them. The news that his uncle would not be visiting this year devastated seven-year-old Faramir.  
  
Boromir looked with pity upon his little brother, wide-eyed and innocent, too young to bear sorrow and the weight of the world.  
  
"Doesn't. . .doesn't he like us any longer, Boromir?" Faramir asked, and Boromir was inclined to answer, lest his brother maintain this guilty belief.  
  
"Of course he likes us, Faramir."  
  
They were in Boromir's bedchamber lying on the bed, excused from lessons for the day as it was nearly midwinter. Boromir had taken pleasure in this respite from book learning, but Faramir had consented to rest only because there were no insects and animals to observe and he was not permitted in the library. Ah, the agonizing restrictions of youth! Nevertheless, the brothers enjoyed their time together.  
  
Boromir sat up straight and opened his arms to his brother. "Come here, Faramir," he said, wanting to let the younger boy know that he was not alone in this introduction to the terror of policy and relations. Not needing to be told twice, Faramir leaned against his brother and Boromir held him protectively. "Father wishes to tighten his rule in the west," Boromir said. "He wants more power."  
  
Faramir did not understand.  
  
"If Father gains this power, Uncle Imrahil loses it. Power is like to wealth: there is only so much wealth in a country. If, for example, Father had all the wealth in Gondor, what would everyone else have?"  
  
"Nothing," Faramir answered.  
  
"Exactly. So if Father has all the power. . ."  
  
"No one else has power," Faramir supplied. He was beginning to understand this new concept, and he did not think he liked it very much. "That is not good, is it, Boromir?"  
  
"Not at all," Boromir replied, "because if one person has all the power, no one can stop him from abusing it."  
  
"So we support Uncle Imrahil? Against our own father?"  
  
Boromir bit his lip. This bothered him, also, but sometimes one must choose country over kin. "Father is a strong and noble leader, Faramir, but power corrupts. Always remember that, it will never change."/  
  
For a quarter of an hour Faramir stood in the great hall, watching, never moving. Long ago he had become familiar with this corner from which the entire hall was visible to him, and thus he knew that King Elessar had not come yet--but that meant little, for the appointed hour had yet to come.  
  
Oddly, Faramir could not think of the man as simply Elessar. Though thinking of him as King was also awkward, thinking of him without any title seemed to go against the principles with which Faramir had been raised.  
  
"Lord Faramir? 'Scuse me, Lord Faramir, but would you be looking for the King here?" Faramir looked about and saw that the voice belonged to a small boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen years, a boy who supposedly worked in the library, but always seemed to be everywhere else, running errands and whatnot. "Only, you will not find him here, sir," the boy continued.  
  
That's right! Faramir remembered now that King Elessar had mentioned something along those lines, about meeting somewhere else. . ."Do you know where he is?"  
  
"Sure as butter I do!" the boy replied, then in his awkward speech gave Faramir directions. Faramir thanked the boy and left, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. But never mind such matters, he was not yet late. At a quick pace Faramir reached the appointed room, took a deep breath, smoothed his hair, and entered.  
  
He was greeted by a strange sight. The two dark-haired figures he had seen earlier that afternoon, whom he had been unable to recognize, were in the process of setting five places at the round table in the center of the small room. The main source of light was the fire, also a source of warmth. Faramir realized that this room must not be terribly far from the kitchens: what was the unorthodox King up to now?  
  
"Can we help you? Are you looking for something?" one of the dark-haired figures asked.  
  
For a moment Faramir stammered, drowning in a sea of words and nerves, then he replied, "Yes, I am looking for the King."  
  
The one who had spoken before looked oddly at him, then asked, "Are you his valet?" Turning to the other figure, he (or she? Faramir was uncertain) said, "I thought we agreed that no servants would be here tonight."  
  
"Perhaps Estel forgot," the second dark-haired figure replied.  
  
"Yes, though it is not at all like him." This figure turned to Faramir, and said, "I'm sorry if he forgot to tell you, but there is no call for servants here tonight."  
  
For a moment Faramir toyed with responding that he was a Steward of Gondor and no servant, but there was no point in it. One of those figures had looked disapprovingly at him earlier. Surely they remembered, surely this was a cruel joke. That sadly hopeful ship inside of Faramir sank, and he felt terribly dejected as he bowed to the two figures, and muttered, "Forgive me, I must have forgotten. . ."  
  
They granted their forgiveness, and Faramir left the room. A part of him held curiosity, but on the whole he was pleased. No need to sit as an ornament, present for the sake of appearances. As he tried to convince himself that he did not feel completely rejected, Faramir plodded along the corridor, meaning to return to his own rooms for the night. Nothing like a good rest to help a person face the next day, after all.  
  
"Faramir? Faramir, wait!" The Steward ignored the call and continued onwards, gripping his elbows in a frustrating mix of anger and hurt. "Faramir!" Running footsteps, then Faramir stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. This enraged him, an obvious breach of and disrespect for policy, and he whirled around to face the King angrily.  
  
"What do you want from me?" he demanded. "You--you insult my country's traditions, you have bereft my family of their rightful position--" Was he truly saying this? This same spiel his father had used to indoctrinate him, the very propaganda Faramir had spent years denying, spilled from his lips against his will. "Did you truly think personal insult necessary?" This, at least, he meant, though he might not have been so ashamed to say it had not tears been threatening.  
  
"Faramir. . ." Elessar's face registered no anger, only surprise and hurt. "Forgive me, I am unfamiliar with the traditions of your country. Your family. . .with the deepest respect to your line, it is no longer necessary for a Steward to rule Gondor. And if I have done anything to personally offend you, I am truly sorry."  
  
Faramir swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling confused and uncertain, not knowing what the name was for the mild windstorm in his gullet. "My apologies, my King, I had no right to speak as such. You are foreign to this country and it is time again for a Kin to rule Gondor. But for personal injury, sire, are you truly so ignorant of it? That you should ask me to join you for a meal, only to be called a servant and turned away? How is this not insult?"  
  
Again the King's face showed his confusion. "Who has said such things to you?"  
  
"I cannot say! They are two but look as one!" Faramir could give no better explanation.  
  
Then he understood. "Oh, no. Faramir, please, come back, all of this will be cleared up."  
  
The Steward bit his lip, but had no choice but to obey. As the two men returned as they had come, the King said, "Is it so awkward to call me simply Elessar, Faramir?"  
  
"Yes, and against tradition," Faramir replied honestly. "I do apologize for this, perhaps your custom is different in. . ." He trailed off. Where did King Elessar come from?  
  
"Will you call me Estel, in this case? It is my childhood nickname, and cannot be associated with being a king."  
  
Faramir considered this. He respected this confused man, though he seemed to be rather ignorant of much, and it did seem in the King's interest to make amends for the wrongs of the dark-haired figures. "I will try," Faramir said at last.  
  
"'Tis all I ask. Ah, here we are then."  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Author's note: Many awkward situations will be explained in the next chapter; the twin setting the table, for example. I do apologize for the lack of. . .well, decent prose. I'm in a bit of a dry stage.  
  
Ivy3: He has met Eowyn, but this is set in the period after the war when she is in Rohan and they have yet to marry; however, they have decided to marry.  
  
Thanks everyone who reviewed, and double thanks to those who told me about Faramir's eyes! 


	5. Drunkenness

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
Faramir had no wish to reenter the chamber, but with King Elessar--Estel, Faramir reminded himself--with Estel by his side at least he knew he must, which somehow decreased the fear. The glances shared by the identical figures, too, embarrassed the Steward, but he managed to stand fast. Politics meant never showing emotion. Yet they spoke nothing of Faramir but went to Elessar and once again hugged him; he returned the gesture.  
  
"Well met indeed, Brothers," the King muttered. Then, nodding in the direction of the table, he asked the twins, "Who is not coming tonight?"  
  
They looked to the table then to Elessar and answered, "No one, Estel. You, Arwen, Legolas and the two of us, that makes five."  
  
"What about the Steward?" Elessar asked. "I invited Faramir to join us tonight." This was said as though in the manner of a gentle reminder, however, the next comment was a low muttering in Sindarin. "And I believe you owe him an apology."  
  
Thinking Faramir not knowledgeable of the elven tongues, one twin replied, "Estel, we knew not who he was." Faramir did not say that he understood, for to do so would be to lose an advantage, something he was unwilling to do and he knew better, anyhow. Faramir was a politician, the son of a politician, and most importantly a sharp-minded boy. That didn't stop Elessar's next words from hurting him, though.  
  
"He is the Steward of Gondor, but he is only a boy and like everyone has suffered losses in the war. Please, if you are sorry, will you not tell him so?" What next was said passed by Faramir's ears, spoken quietly that the Elves heard but the Man could not.  
  
With that Elessar placed one hand on either of the twins' shoulders and met their eyes, then smiled at them hopefully and moved to set a sixth place at the table. Discomfort rose in Faramir and more than anything he wished to escape this place of confusion, but saw no polite manner in which to do so.  
  
"Steward Faramir?" The Man blinked to focus his eyes at the sound of his name, spoken by one of the identical figures. "We do apologize for our earlier misconceptions."  
  
"What?" he had forgotten completely, absorbed in thoughts of flight. "Oh, of course, it is naught to concern yourself. . .selves. . .about, it might have happened to anyone."  
  
"I am Elrohir," said the twin who had not spoken the apology, "and this is my brother Elladan. No need to worry," he added, seeing and reading Faramir's expression, "few are able to discern who is which of us."  
  
"I am Faramir, though you already have heard." He had not the boldness, nor the lack of propriety, to inquire as to who these fellows were in relation to Elessar--Estel, he corrected himself again--and what they were doing here in Gondor. He knew they were Elves.  
  
Luckily for Faramir, and for Elladan and Elrohir, the three were saved from attempting polite conversation by Legolas, who said, "If any of you wishes to eat, I suggest you take your seats before the Lady of the Stone City bashes you o'er the head."  
  
"Nothing to risk!" Elladan exclaimed, or at least Faramir thought it was Elladan, and the twins and Legolas took seats at the table. Faramir watched, uncertain. "Please, sit," Elessar said, so Faramir did, plunking himself awkwardly in the empty chair between Legolas and Elessar. He noted the shape of the table--round, that no one was seated at the foot or head.  
  
No food had been set upon the table but a loaf of bread still warm from the oven and a pot which Faramir assumed contained soup. Before he could wonder as to who had brought the food in, or, for that matter, when the Queen and Legolas had entered the room, one of the twins spoke up. "Go on then, Estel!"  
  
"Never it's my go at it!" Elessar replied. "Arwen ought to do the honours, it's only right."  
  
"Certainly not," Arwen refuted, "after all, melamin, you are King."  
  
"Oh, none of that!" protested Elladan, Elrohir and Elessar all at once.  
  
"Well, one of you must," Legolas said. "Here: I have in my mind a number between one and ten, whosoever guesses nearest must go ahead."  
  
Elessar and Arwen agreed to this, for Arwen spoke "One!" as Elessar spoke "Ten!" Legolas grinned and held up two fingers. "Oh!" Arwen slapped her hand over her eyes. "I must then." In respect to Arwen they all closed their eyes, and simply for tradition they grasped the hands of the members beside them. Faramir drew away, expecting Elessar and Legolas to join hands across him, and so was completely surprised to feel either of his hands grasped by another's.  
  
"This is tradition," Elessar muttered, and so, odd though it was, Faramir consented to it.  
  
"This night we give our thanks for. . ." Arwen considered for a moment. "Love, strength, perserverance, new friends and old. Old battles have ended and new are beginning. My wish is continued strength for those I love to continue on with the paths they have chosen to tread, or those who have grabbed them by the ankles. We ask the protection of this peace in Gondor and all the lands of Middle-earth and. . .and safe passage to the Valinor for Ada, Daeradar and Daernaneth."  
  
Elrohir, beside Arwen, spoke next, saying, "Safe passage."  
  
Elladan, too, spoke these words.  
  
"The growth of verdant greenery again in Greenwood the Great," Legolas added.  
  
"Not to be banished from their hearts," Elessar said. All were silent for a moment, Elessar's wish weighing heavily upon them, until he mumbled, "Make a wish, Faramir."  
  
The Steward spoke only one word. "Boromir."  
  
/"Come on, Faramir, keep up!" Boromir's words carried the curving stairway. Faramir's breathing was ragged, for he had been ill recently and his lungs were not fully well, but he continued with all the strength he could conjure up. Twenty-two-year-old Boromir came running back down the stairway. "Are you all right, Brother?"  
  
"I am fine, Boromir," replied Faramir as best he could. "You go on ahead, I will catch you up."  
  
Boromir shook his head. "This is not what I wish. The moment we approach belongs not to us individually but only as a whole. Together we will meet it, Brother, or not at all. Come on!" He looped an arm around Faramir's shoulders. The younger boy did his best to set a brisk pace, and Boromir hung back to match it.  
  
At last the left the stairway and entered the heavens, or so Faramir believe, so surrounded were they by the blackness of eternity and the glowing pinpricks that were stars. "Oh!" So awed was he that he could speak nothing more but feel his heart rise and swelling, his breathing laboured not by weak lungs but by sheer euphoria. "Oh, Boromir," he managed at last.  
  
Smiling at the younger boy, Boromir held his little brother. Tomorrow he would leave once more on military call, but tonight was for him, for Faramir, for Boromir, for the brothers together. The call was one of danger, and Boromir knew not when he would see his little brother again. Tonight, he just wanted to hold the boy one last time, to let him know that he was loved and to be comforted by that love's return.  
  
A star shot from the sky. Boromir whispered, "Make a wish, Faramir."/  
  
After they had dropped the hands they held, the soup and the bread was passed about. Faramir looked suspiciously at the creamy liquid; it was deep red in colour and smelled of spice and that inexplicable thing he heard referred to as "kick." He had never seen such a brew, and in the politest of manners stirred it about with his spoon.  
  
Suddenly he became conscious of eye upon him. "I have not poisoned it," Arwen said, laughter in her voice.  
  
"You?" Faramir could manage nothing more out of the shock of it. A Queen, cooking? "You cooked, Lady Queen?"  
  
She blushed something terrible at this! "There is nothing of rank at this table," Arwen said. "And yes, I did cook. My mother taught me."  
  
"It has for some time been a tradition among the family, Arwen's and Elladan's and Elrohir's, to do such things," Legolas explained helpfully. "Their mother began it, cooking for them and forcing the twins to set the table, so I have heard."  
  
Faramir attempted to work through the muddle of this. "Arwen is sister to the two?" he asked.  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Yet earlier Ki--er, Estel referred to them as his brothers."  
  
"Ah, that. . .perhaps would be a better story for Estel himself to tell."  
  
"On another occasion," Elessar added. "I propose a tournament, a who-can- eat-the-most-of-Arwen's-soup-without-crying tournament."  
  
Amidst much agreement to this, and much protest on the part of Arwen, Faramir brightly poured water into his own glass and passed the pitcher around. If the soup was so hot that they would be crying from it, water might be helpful. This game began, quickly to be lost by Elladan, followed by Elessar then Elrohir, until only Arwen and Legolas remained in the contest, sipping their soup as though it were not burning their innards up. In spite of this appearance, both had turned a bit pink round the cheeks and had emptied their glasses at least once. Faramir, having never been exposed to such soup, had needed a good thump on the back after swallowing a spoonful and had retreated to bread, occasionally dipped in his soup.  
  
At long last tears sprang to Legolas's eyes and rolled ruthlessly down his cheeks. "They burn!" he joked, swiping away the droplets. Arwen was then decided to have coated her mouth with wax, until she reached her breaking point and also teared up. With many tears and merry conversation the soup bowls were emptied, save for Faramir's. That was when the drinking began.  
  
In good company drink is a pleasant enough matter, but when there are disloyalties running beneath the surface these ripple and buck, and unpleasantry rears its ugly head. Faramir, emboldened by drink, asked the question which had simmered within him all evening, boiling when the elves clearly ignored him, for though Legolas muttered helpful things, Elessar attempted to include Faramir and Arwen was pleasant if not patronizing to him, the twins cleared had no interest whatsoever in the Man. "Why did you have me come tonight, King Elessar?"  
  
Elladan, who also had imbibed perhaps too much wine, added, "I, too, should like to hear that answered. Why do you include him tonight, Estel? He is not family."  
  
Elessar frowned. Of the lot, he had taken the least drink. Legolas and Arwen too were sober enough. "Nor am I your family, Elladan. Faramir, because you are my friend, and so sad seeming and often so alone."  
  
Drink carried Faramir far enough as to say, "I have no need of pity."  
  
"And of friends?"  
  
Usually sharp of wit, the alcohol lowered Faramir's thought to the level of dullness comparable to that of a hound. "Don't try to help me!" Even drunk, he saw where this was going. "Don't try to replace my brother and my father!" shouted Faramir, Steward of Gondor.  
  
"Faramir," Legolas said, trying to defuse the situation before it became any worse.  
  
Elessar might have taken in the least drink, but he was nevertheless sufficiently drunken. "All right then, I won't overshadow you and slap you around!" he replied, not yelling but not far from it.  
  
"Estel!" Legolas said, chiding him and in a word demanding that he behave!  
  
"You have no right to speak of my family this way you. . .you. . .drunken usurper!"  
  
Elessar stood up angrily then, and Faramir imitated him. They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, and likely the night would have ended in bloodshed but Arwen intervened. "That is enough! Both of you, stop this!" She, too, was on her feet. "You are drunk and acting terribly for it! We are all feeling raw right now but fighting with our allies will not repair our injured hearts. Now if you cannot apologize you can both turn round and go to your beds this instant and think about what you have done!"  
  
Elladan and Elrohir snickered, and Arwen turned her rage on them next. "You, too! You rotten little boys, you terrible brothers! All of you awful, rotten men leave each other be, you drunken idiots!"  
  
Feeling terrible for it and each mumbling an apology, the four who had been shouted at filed from the room with their heads hanging. "Oh, Arwen, I am so sorry," Legolas said when the two were alone. He rose and went to her, and she cried onto his shoulder for a long time. "Estel should be holding you now. None of this should have happened. Put it from your mind."  
  
"No. . ." Arwen wiped her tears onto the sleeve of her dress. "I should have known better. I told him to invite Faramir, he had the idea but had I not pushed him he never would have done it. . .oh, it is the first time we have done this without Ada and of course tempers were high. . .Now they have gone and hurt each other. Oh those ghastly boys!"  
  
Not sure which ghastly boys Arwen referred to, Legolas nodded. "They never meant it, Arwen. Here, let's just clear everything up. . ." By Elvish reckoning Legolas was not old. Nevertheless, he knew enough about Arwen not to push her to speak, simply to stand beside her. He so wished Elessar were here. He was a poor substitute.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Author's note: Admittedly, the Peredhil tradition is a cross between the Christmas dinner in Baby Blues and the "wish huddles" in The Wind on Fire Trilogy. 


	6. Hung Over

"And you are ugly! But when I wake up in the morning, I'll be sober!" -- Winston Churchill, upon being informed that he was drunk  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof.  
  
*****  
  
"Estel, you must apologize to him," Arwen said out of the blue. For three days since the ill-fated dinner Elessar and Faramir had conducted themselves in strictly formal manners, engaging each other in discussion only of the most pressing state manners. Arwen, who had been a casualty of this battle right from the start, could stand it no longer. She loved Elessar more than anything, she was willing to and indeed would die for him, but she also quite liked Faramir, though of course platonically, and should have liked to get to know him better, but this cold war halted her.  
  
"He ought to apologize, not I," Elessar answered. "He looks to be offended."  
  
"You know perfectly well that this entire thing is your fault," Arwen told him quite frankly. "You had no reason to speak of his family in such a manner! I met Boromir, Estel, and he was a fine fellow. You yourself mourned his passing! And perhaps I need remind you of the harsh words you shared with Lord Elrond when you sought to marry me?"  
  
Elessar had by this point been well quenched of his belief. At this time had she wanted to Arwen might well have played puppeteer with him as her doll; however, if he would apologize to Faramir (though he owed her an apology, which over the past few days had been repeated so sincerely, marred only by his anger with Faramir) this whole mess of unhappiness might well just sort itself out.  
  
"Very well, I shall send for him--"  
  
"Go to him," Arwen answered, and, as her husband opened his mouth to protest that he would be unable to find Faramir, she smiled at him and said, "he will be in the library, go on."  
  
Finding no further protests and feeling that perhaps Arwen was right and he did owe Faramir an apology, Elessar made his way to the library, muttering to himself, "Faramir, I. . .no, no, he would never like that. . .Lord Faramir, my conduct. . .Lord Faramir, it is without. . .I regret. . .please forgive. . .gah, is there no proper apology for a man to make!. . .please do not be angry. . .no, he's every right. . ." Such that he did not notice when he entered the library and, having decided upon an address for Faramir, pronounced louder than he had intended, "Lord Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor!"  
  
"Yes?" Faramir was sitting before at a round table with a book open. His grey eyes shot about with disinterest, looking the newly arrived king over in a bored sort of manner. "Is something the matter?"  
  
Realizing that he needed speak then, Elessar said, "I. . .er. . .how are you, Lord, are you well?"  
  
"Quite, thank you, and yourself." It was not a question: Faramir did not truly mean it.  
  
"Weather's been nice."  
  
Faramir sighed; he would not put up with much more of this. "Be off with your circumlocution, will you, so please you!"  
  
Elessar looked blankly at him. "Forgive my ignorance, what does that mean?"  
  
"It means I would have you speak plain; what matter of state brings you to speak with me at this hour?" Faramir knew he was being completely rude and dancing on the wrong edge of the line he ought to toe, but he could not help himself. He had had it with being a good boy, a good man; people walked all over him. Why, one time, he had saved Boromir's skin and naught but a thank-you in return!  
  
/"Boromir?" Faramir coughed. The air was thick with pipesmoke and alcohol smells. Hanging torches and lanterns shed light across the faces of the many men, giving them all a similar, half-lit appearance.  
  
Coming to this place had not been Faramir's own decision. However, he had discovered Boromir missing and known from experience that if no one went to fetch him, he would be unconscious drunken the next morning, when he was due to report back for military call. Why had he gone off drinking again?  
  
Boromir was only nearly a year in the military, but he loved the service. Not as much did he love it, though, as he loved to go out with his friends for a few rounds. The last time Boromir had a weekend off of duty, he had ended up sleeping in a pigpen, having denied to tell his father of his freedom and spent the entire time in the pubs.  
  
He meant well, though. Boromir was just a boy looking to have a good time, so what if he was a little immature? Soon or later he would grow up and not be off drinking so much. "Boromir?" Faramir called again. At thirteen, he knew how to look after himself and, when necessary, his brother.  
  
"Faramir!" There he was, sitting at a table with a group of others, one of whom had pointed out the arrival of Boromir's brother. "You are too young to be here!"  
  
The younger brother scowled, in his majority at thirteen, but said, "Boromir, you must come! Tomorrow you must report and. . ." he could see the his arguments were falling on deaf ears ". . .and Father knows you're out!"/  
  
Sitting in the library, Faramir blinked back tears at the memory. Denethor had not known, but that little fib brought Boromir home. In the morning, when he awoke with a splitting headache before the sun rose to learn that Denethor had not known at all, oh how he had shouted!  
  
"Faramir, what's wrong?" Elessar asked, alarmed. "I only came to apologize to you for the other night, offending you had been my last of intentions."  
  
Faramir shook his head to clear away the unwanted memories. "Nothing is wrong. Of course, your apologize is accepted and forgive me for my earlier rudeness. I would not have taken offense at all, had not. . .had not your words rung true."  
  
"Faramir--"  
  
"I respect my dead and honor my family, of course, I do," Faramir prattled on, "perhaps only my memories are not accurate that they plague me. . .the mind is such a fickle thing. . ."  
  
"Perhaps you are not telling yourself the truth about your feelings," Elessar suggested.  
  
Faramir looked at him, then considered it. "'Twould hurt far less, were in untrue."  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
Faramir looked out the window to the sun, slowly setting. Dumbly he nodded.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Aurora West: Ah, that was a typo, thanks. As for long chapters I really can't manage them, it's just not my style.  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! 


	7. Talking

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: They mentioned fish and chips in The Two Towers, so I thought it would be all right to have them in this story.  
  
*****  
  
Faramir jumped as the hot, oily paper package fell into his lap. Well, not fell, accurately: was dropped, more like. He juggled against the sudden heat, then managed to gather the package in his hands. Elessar sat next to Faramir, swung his legs over the edge of the roof and said, "By Elbereth, but that was an exciting climb! Go ahead, rip open the package, aren't you keen on burning the roof of your mouth?"  
  
"Ought I be?" But Faramir could not deny the tantalizing smells coming from the package. Tearing apart one wall of the paper prison, he grasped the first edible prisoner he could lay hands on and popped it into his mouth. "By Elbereth!"  
  
Elessar laughed. "Nice manners there," he teased. "Not familiar with chips, are you?"  
  
"No. . .Father would not have approved," Faramir answered. "Ah! That's hot!"  
  
"Just wait until they cool, then you will realize that they truly haven't much taste without salt," Elessar answered, snatching a handful of chips from the package. For a moment the two sat in silence, enjoying their view of the lower circles of Minas Tirith, their backs to the upper circles, from the stable roof. The smell of chips and the sound of muffled chewing kept their silence from being absolute, kept their atmosphere from being unfriendly.  
  
"Do you come up here often?" Elessar asked at last.  
  
Faramir shook his head and licked oil from his fingers. "You are terrible at small talk, sire, if I may speak frankly. However, since you have asked, I have not been up here in many years."  
  
Elessar rubbed his greasy fingers along the edge of his tunic to clean them off, leaving him with several stains and a rather unsatisfactory, half-oily feel on his fingers. "You and Lady Éowyn are planning on a spring wedding, are you not? This was the rumor I heard."  
  
"We are, yes." Faramir brushed a strand of hair out his eyes. He made no further efforts towards conversation.  
  
"So. Here we are, circumlocuting."  
  
His brow wrinkled, Faramir answered, "It is a noun, sire. One does not 'curcomlocute.' At least, not that I know of."  
  
Elessar chewed thoughtfully, ruminating, then said, "So. Here we are, beating around the bush."  
  
For some reason, this seemed quite funny to Faramir and he laughed appreciatively. "Beating around the White Tree," he answered.  
  
Looking sidewise at Faramir Elessar commented, "I do believe, Faramir, that for the first time I have heard you jest. Is there beer in those chips?" Both men laughed at this.  
  
"We are not laughing, you realize, but giggling," Faramir commented, "and it is shameful that two of Gondor's chief politicians cannot address a matter of little significance without much fear and circumlocution."  
  
"Faramir. . ."  
  
Elessar reached out to touch his shoulder, but Faramir drew away, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around himself. "Tell me of my brother," Faramir said. "Were you with him when he died?"  
  
"I was. Boromir lay among the bodies of his slain foes: great were their numbers. He spoke that he had tried to take the Ring from Frodo and that he was sorry. He bid me go to Minas Tirith and save his people."  
  
"Boromir--" Faramir swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, "Boromir would have said that. His thoughts often strayed to his people ere his self."  
  
At this Elessar blanched, knowing that Faramir spoke of confused memories, then said, "With all due respect, are we not here to speak truth?"  
  
"He was a good man and a fine leader, albeit in times of war," said Faramir. "I looked up to him, trusted him. . .I wanted to be just like him but I. . .my weaknesses were too many and too great. I could not fight like he could, a sword felt unpleasant in my hands. Why? Why was I the weakling and he so strong? Day by day I strove to be more like him. . .to be what my father wanted in a son. . .  
  
"And so I lived my life in his shadow, following his footsteps and wishing I could fulfill them. Much resentment comes from this. All the feelings I kept hidden from the world, all the urges I denied--reading, studying as I should have liked--have returned to haunt me. The person I never became taunts me for being so different from him!  
  
"Gondor has no call of armies now, and here I, who so failed in the great battles, would fail also. Hours wasted in reading that might be better spent. . .Never timely, either, there is no attribute to be proud of. What am I? What have I become, this one half-fighter half-scholar being never part of one world or another quite, but always in part. What use now is there of one who can neither fight nor think--"  
  
"Faramir!" Elessar stood and grasped the arm of the other man, who now looked to the ground below them. "Faramir. . ." He shook his head: no. "That would be truly a waste of your life." In the growing darkness the two had difficulty seeing one another, but they met each other's eyes as best they could. "You can fight, Faramir. I have seen you fight and you can fight. It is true that this skill is but learned; nevertheless! As for thinking, oh, were there any mind in Gondor half as well tuned as yours I have yet to meet him. Where does this insecurity come from?"  
  
Faramir shrugged. "You did not live your life in the shadow of another, you cannot begin to understand."  
  
"Now that is a truly preposterous idea," Elessar answered.  
  
"Indeed." Faramir snorted. "What are we doing here? Why do you care about me? This is all mixed up."  
  
"We are here to talk. I care about you because you are a kind, interesting, intelligent man whose is obviously in a lot of pain. Do you ever wish your brother had paid you more mind? Did you ever seek to please your father with your mind?"  
  
Faramir bit his lip. He should have seen that one coming: the old rule of I ask, you ask. "I did often wish to be given credit for the things I did right as well as those I did wrong. Being a second son does not make me a failure. Sometimes I did try to show my father how bright I was, or thought I was, but he had some snippish response. I was wasting his time with my childish dabbles, I was trying to outdo him. If I beat him at a game of chess I was a disloyal son, if I lost a weakling and a push-over. What was the point? That is not my question," he added quickly. "What do you see me as, in relation to you? You do not treat me as a Steward. Do you see me as your brother, perhaps, trying to replace Boromir?"  
  
"A friend, I suppose," Elessar answered. Offering up a part of himself he said, "Being fostered into an Elven family, one thing I grew up believing was that family is whomever you love. Perhaps I do see you as a brother. Why do you think your father pushed you around so often?"  
  
For a long while there was silence, then Faramir spoke to a distant point on the horizon, "Mother. . .could not go full term with me. When I was born she was left very weak, she never recovered and sometimes I think she never wanted to. You see, and there was another. . ."  
  
/Denethor strode purposefully into the room, at last admitted by the midwife. "Finduilas?" he knelt worriedly by his wife, so pale and tired upon the bed. What exertions had she been through? Boromir's birth had not been so difficult. Why should this second child ruin his mother as such? "Finduilas. . ." Denethor clasped her slender hand between both of his; she felt so cold!  
  
At last a sign of life, Lady Finduilas turned her head and smiled weakly at Denethor. "It is all right, love. Only let me rest now. I am so tired!" She closed her eyes and within moments had passed to the world of dreams. Many hours she would dream before waking.  
  
"Where is my child?" Denethor asked. "Have I not another son?" He stood and looked to the midwife, who held a squaling child in her arms. How had he not heard the crying? The midwife's apprentice, behind her, knelt on the ground. What did she work at? Denethor shifted but could not see.  
  
"You have a son," the midwife told him, "be thankful for him."  
  
She held out the blanket-wrapped boy. "He is awfully small," Denethor said without taking the child.  
  
"There is little can be done now to fix this, Lord Denethor," the midwife spoke. "Having been born so early has not aided him, and, Lord, there was another. This boy. . .but also a girl." The apprentice rose then, and solemnly handed to Denethor a second blanket-wrapped body, lifeless and losing heat quickly.  
  
Swallowing heavily, he peeled away the blanket to see a waxy blue little girl, already beautiful. Tears came to the eyes of Denethor but he would not cry them. Harshly, he covered the child again. "Dispose of it," he said. "Let Lady Finduilas not know."  
  
"My Lord, with all respect, she knows a-ready," the midwife spoke, but Denethor would not be swayed. So little he knew of the ways of women! "Very well, but I warn you Lord Denethor, do not ask your lady for another child. The birth alone might kill her."/  
  
"I could be my mother's daughter but not my father's son," Faramir finished. "My sister. . .Not a day goes by I do not mourn her loss. If she had only lived, I used to think, Mother would have been happy. Her heart would have healed. That was silly. Such things cannot be changed. Who fostered you?"  
  
"Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Did she have a name?"  
  
"The girl? No. She did live long enough. Did you ever have a pet?"  
  
"No, did you?"  
  
"Yes. I kept a rabbit I was supposed to kill. It's getting awful dark. We should go back."  
  
"I agree." The two climbed off the roof in silence, swinging themselves to the ground gracefully. "Will you come to the next dinner? The twins will be civil, I will see to that."  
  
Faramir considered a moment. "All right," he said, "I suppose I will."  
  
"Excellent! It is tomorrow evening."  
  
Faramir laughed. "I don't think I will be able to compete in the soup game, though."  
  
"You will not need to, no one but Arwen knows how to make that soup."  
  
"Who is going to cook?" Faramir asked. It had never occurred to him that the group rotated jobs. In the silence he turned to Elessar, who raised an eyebrow slyly. Faramir bit back laughter.  
  
"If you come, you are family. Feel free to laugh. Just remember that sooner or later, you will have to take your turn at it!"  
  
*****  
  
To be continued!  
  
I know that writing in the girl was something of a risk, because it's not strictly canon. Hopefully no one is terribly upset by it. 


	8. Friends

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof. The soup story is from the extended film of The Two Towers and the riddle is from puzzledonkey.com.  
  
*****  
  
"Pupils!" Faramir considered for a moment. "That one's old," he added.  
  
Arwen answered for Legolas, "So is he!" Legolas looked at her, punched her shoulder lightly, then returned to the plates he was setting on the table. "Go on, Faramir, it is your turn!"  
  
He bit his lip in thought. "All right. A four letter word, and it's quite absurd, how adding an s to the fore makes the 'er' from before sound a bit more like 'or' and makes a weapon of war!"  
  
Before the others had a chance to answer they heard a crash and a shouted swear from the next room. The three exchanged glances, shaking with contained laughter. Arwen handed a pile of forks to Legolas. "I'll go and see what the trouble is," she said, her voice higher than usual.  
  
There was another crash. "Oh, buggering bastard bullocks!"  
  
Legolas lost himself than and laughed out loud. Faramir chewed on his knuckle to stay quiet and finished setting the table, whilst his companion's face turned bright red. "You know," Legolas said, "he is not just being nice if he invited you tonight. Estel really cares about you."  
  
They were interrupted by another swear, and then, "How have you managed this?" Faramir raised an eyebrow in doubt.  
  
"He feels guilty," Legolas continued. "I hope you are no offended, I speak only the truth. When Estel abandoned Boromir, or so he felt...well, then when he died...your brother meant a lot to Estel. Then he met you, and it was as though meeting an elven Boromir. At first he saw you as a chance to succeed where with Boromir he failed. Then he came to care for you--not for Boromir, not the elves, but you."  
  
"Why do you tell me these things?" Faramir asked.  
  
Legolas measured his words. "You seem much an adult, and not one who enjoys padded speech. I believed it would help you more to know this truth, to know that originally Estel acted not to help you but to salvage Boromir, and he came to love you for what you are. That is a true measure of character."  
  
Just the Arwen and Elessar appeared, arguing in swift Sindarin. Elessar grinned apologetically, holding what might have at one time been food. "It is a little burnt..."  
  
"A little! He says, a little!"  
  
Then what Legolas had said suddenly snapped into place, and Faramir blurted out, "Thorongil?"  
  
Elessar dropped the "a little burnt" food in shock. It was Arwen's turn to swear.  
  
**  
  
Half an hour later, the group sat happily by the fire, the table forgotten. After his failed attempts at cooking ("Stick with what you know," Arwen berated him. "Why did you have to try something like that? Stupid males..."), Elessar had proved that he could, in fact, fix sandwich for everyone without incident. So they sat about in high spirits, laughing at each other- -but mostly at Elessar. Except for the twins, who frowned.  
  
"Estel," asked Elladan, keeping to Sindarin so as not to be blatantly rude, "what is it you see in this man?"  
  
"Elladan--"  
  
"I might ask the same about you," Faramir stated flawlessly, his use of Sindarin shocking the company into silence. "You have not given me a chance. Since the first time I came to sup with you it has been your intention to dislike me. That is your choice. I am not a bad person, but there is no need to prove that to you. Find out for yourselves, or continue hating me. I do not care on way or t'other, only please make up your minds."  
  
No one spoke for a moment, then amidst applause and laughter someone cried, "He's got you there, Elladan!"  
  
The twins blushed scarlet and later profusely apologized to Faramir, who forgave them, understanding how embarrassed they had been.  
  
Time passed, then Elessar said, "I am thinking about Lady Eowyn now...and what will we do when you are wed to her, Faramir!"  
  
Defensive, Faramir answered, "Why do you say that?"  
  
"On the road to Helm's Deep, Eowyn made this stew which 'terrible' does not begin to describe." Elessar took a deep breath, then finished his story half-speaking and half laughing, "Then she stood by and watched me eat it. Please do not tell her, I wanted to spare her feelings..."He fell over himself laughing, which was all right because Legolas fell over him laughing, also.  
  
"Estel," Faramir said, producing a toy from his pocket, "heads up!" He threw the ball as hard as he could. Elessar ducked out of the way, as Faramir had expected. However, Faramir had not counted on the ball ricocheting against the wall and hitting the King on the back of the head! The Steward stammered, "I--That was not..."  
  
Elessar grinned. He looked the ball over, then hurled it back to Faramir.  
  
A year later, Faramir of Gondor caught a speeding missile one-handed. "Cheater!" Elessar said. "You could not possibly have caught that without..." He was unsure of exactly how Faramir had caught the ball, and so fell silent.  
  
"I am an archer, Estel. I catch the ball every time! Similarly, you might be able to cut it with your sword."  
  
"Sword!" Legolas cried, leaping to his feet. "That's the answer to the riddle!"  
  
Faramir touched his fingertips to his forehead then held them out, motioning: scatterbrain! "Correct," he said. "Your turn!" And the room collapsed into a fit of laughter.  
  
"Actually," said Arwen, "in such a manner, it is your turn, Faramir: next month, you and Lady Eowyn are responsible for food preparation." Since Faramir's marriage to Eowyn, the dinners had faded to a once-monthly event, cooking done in pairs. Teams had been partitioned as such: Elladan and Elrohir, Elessar and Arwen, Eowyn and Faramir, Legolas and, another newly joined member of their group, Gimli. "Less bruises," she added, with a sly look at Legolas and Gimli.  
  
Gimli grunted. "It seems every time something goes wrong, blame falls to the Dwarf!" he said.  
  
With an ethereal and incredibly arrogant smile, Legolas said, "Then perhaps the Dwarf ought not cause so many accidents."  
  
Eowyn had a thoughtful look. "I have never been much at cooking," she admitted, "though I do know of one stew--"  
  
"No!"  
  
"You are all against me," she joked. To Faramir, she added, "I never knew you were one of them."  
  
Faramir looked at the others, then at his wife. Then and most unexpectedly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her. "I never knew it either," he said.  
  
"You are bold, Man of Gondor," Eowyn said, but she smiled. Faramir took this as an invitation and he kissed her again.  
  
And the others cheered.  
  
*****  
  
The End! 


End file.
